This story is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, incidents and most places are a product of
the imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental. The story contains sex between males.
If that offends you, please do not continue.

All trademarks mentioned are the property of their respective owners, and no
infringement is intended or should be inferred.

This story is for the exclusive use of the
Nifty Archives and Archerland. No part of this story may be reproduced in
any form without the written permission of the author.

Part 10

Fortune

The
trouble with leaving for a few days is that work keeps piling up. There is
really no one at Molini who can do what I do. So my punishment for a vacation
is a week or so of very long days.

Those
long days were on top of the normal long days at Molini. But I enjoyed my
work, and though I got minimum wage, or so it seemed, in my paycheck, I was
piling up a lot of probably worthless stock and stock options along with my
hours.

Drew
called me into his office one day in September. His door was open, and he
waved me in before getting up and carefully closing the door. He didn't
usually bother to close the door, because there was no one really close enough
to hear anything going on. So when he closed the door, I knew something was
up.

"Jake,
what I am going to tell you does not go outside this office unless I say it is
okay."

I
nodded my assent. Drew knew I could be discrete.

"I
want your advice. You are as close as anyone I know concerning the interface
between a computer program and a non-technical user. You may not have written
the code or even designed it, but you designed the way we should approach
computer programs. And, frankly, that is why our sales have mushroomed."

I
was embarrassed, my face turning red.

"It's
true," Drew said.

"It
was all just doing some acting, like a typical user would behave," I
countered.

"Bullshit.
The acting got the attention of those programmers, but your suggestions on how
to address the problems made them do what needed to be done. Trust me. You
were instrumental in getting our program off the ground. Besides, the games
you played with our programmers ended months ago."

He
paused and made a tent with his hands on his desktop. "The reason I asked you
in today is that our friends across the lake want our help. No, they want our
program and our programmers. They want to buy us out."

I
wasn't entirely surprised. "Their programs certainly need help. Apple is
years ahead of them in that regard. Their programs look like they were
designed by, well, programmers and not by users."

"That's
exactly why they like us. We complement them on the end-user side."

"Why
don't they just do it themselves?"

"Because
they don't have any Jake Cantwells, that's why. We do, and we have half a
brigade of programmers who write code as if Jake Cantwell was going to call
them up on the phone and pretend that he is a distressed legal assistant
somewhere screwing up their precious program. We can save them years of
development time. That's why they're interested in us."

"So,
why are you telling me all this?"

"First,
I trust your judgment. Second, you are discreet. Third, I want your advice on
whether you think we should do it or not. From your perspective and what you
know of them, how much can we be an asset to them? In other words, how hard
can I bargain on a selling price for Molini?" Drew looked at me across his
large desk.

I
sat and thought for a long time--maybe, five minutes. In the background I could
see traffic moving. I could see a few people walking up the steep sidewalk to
the next street. Drew sat patiently still, his hands clasped together in front
of him. He was in no hurry for my answer.

"I
believe we can save them a great deal of money," I said, but I said it with
some hesitation.

"Well,
there is no doubt in my mind that we could be of considerable help to them. My
hesitation is this: You have a very successful company, and it is likely to
continue to be successful. You have incredible employee loyalty. So you
would be giving up a lot by selling the company--an awful lot.

"In
addition," I continued, "Our friends across the lake tend to put out half-baked
programs the first time and worry about repairing and improving them later. It's
a strategy, I guess. So I suspect we won't be terribly happy with the first
time we see our work used in their hands. They do manage to make things work
the second or third time around."

"Thanks,
Jake. You've encouraged me to avoid too cheap a selling price. In other
words, the price I want for Molini just went up." Drew got up and opened the
door again, signaling the end of our meeting. "Give my best to Robbie. We
need to have you out to dinner again. Give me a date and we'll do it."

Over
the next few months there was a lot of furtive activity on Drew's part. He was
in New York a lot. I knew that because he called me from time to time on
details of his negotiations. Then, he would leave for dinner meetings,
probably at some place like the Rainier Club, that I figured were a
continuation of his negotiations. In fact, he had to reschedule a dinner that
Robbie and I had planned with him and his wife. He told me why, to avoid any
hard feelings we might have.

Then,
one day he called me into his office, closed the door behind me, and told me
that he had struck a deal--a very attractive deal, he said. He announced that
as of midnight September 18, most of the staff would be millionaires. He
handed me the agreements he was ready to sign and asked me to read them over
and tell him if I saw any major problems. He cautioned me that there was a
strict embargo on this information that I had to heed. "Otherwise, you might
go to jail, and Robbie wouldn't like that," he said with a smile, but I knew
enough about securities law from my father's work to realize how deadly serious
he was.

He
said that he had sold the company for $13.25 a share. Drew didn't indicate how
much he would be worth, but I didn't really need to ask. All I needed was to
look inside the documents he handed me to find out. Actually, I had enough
shares and was in a high enough company position that I was required to have my
shares listed, too. So I could look later to see how much this was going to
mean to Robbie and me.

"You're
sure you want to do this?" I asked.

"I
think so. I've worked hard to build up this company, and I think it's time to
cash out. I can still keep a hand in if I want, but now I have the ability to
walk away at any time, and that's worth a lot. If Judy decides she's had it
with the law business, we can retire to a South Pacific island--or buy a South
Pacific island or whatever. And, I want to set up a charity foundation."

I sensed
a relaxation in Drew that I had never sensed before. I realized then how much
strain there must have been in developing a company and I felt a sympathy for
Drew's decision. And, he had done well for his employees.

It
was later that afternoon that I had finished reviewing the documents that Drew
had handed me and put my stamp of approval on them. I realized how much Robbie
and I were now worth, and I was trying to figure out how to spring the news on
him--after the embargo.

* * * * *

Over
the weeks after our hike I grew closer to Alec and Celly. For Alec, it seemed
I became like the big brother I was with Tran. I wasn't exactly a parent.
Robbie was the parent. I wasn't the disciplinarian. That was Robbie's job,
mostly, but I was there if need be to be a disciplinarian. I became the one
that Alec could confide in, to ask his questions about growing up. Asking me
his questions was a bit strange, considering how fucked up most of my life was
amounted to the naÔve leading the inexperienced.

But
Alec could ask his questions about sex and physical development. He could ask
about the relationships with his high-school peers. When Alec gave me
permission, I would pass on to Robbie what he asked me and how I responded, and
I don't think Robbie blinked too much with what I told him.

Robbie
didn't even blink when I told him the gist of a very teen-age-boy conversation.

Alec
had come up to me and asked: "Jake, could I talk with you in total
confidentiality. Maybe you can pass on an expurgated version of it to Dad, but
that's all."

"Expurgated?"
I quipped. I could see Alec start to distance himself from me immediately. I
had to repair my gaffe. "I'm sorry, I have this need to make jokes about
everything. Let's start over." I put my arm over his shoulder and gave him a
sideways hug.

Alec
looked at me closely, and then he relaxed. "I want to know if I'm gay."

Whew!
I couldn't breath for a moment. I said in as comforting a voice as I could
muster: "Why do you think you might be gay?" I deliberately didn't ask why he
thought he was gay; I asked why he thought he was gay.

"You
remember Mike? Mike Alvord."

I
looked a bit puzzled.

"You
know Mike--the Mike on my basketball team."

I then
remembered him as a tall and slender guard, black, with a body that showed that
he had spent a lot of hours in the gym. "Yes, that Mike. The one who's always
smiling?"

"Yes,
him." I could see that Alec was happy that I remembered his friend. Alec
looked at me with a bit more confidence. "Mike's home life is complete shit.
His father is an alcoholic and maybe a drug pusher. His mom works hard to keep
her family together, but it can be a real struggle.

"Every
once in a while, Mike doesn't want to go home after school, so I invited him to
come over here."

"That's
very thoughtful and sweet of you."

"We
normally go up to my room and hang out with my VCR and computer. We just laze
and talk about everything.

"Well,
last week we started talking about sex." Alec looked at me to see how I would
react. I kept my expression neutral. "One thing led to another and we ended
up naked and beating off."

"Well,
it led to something more. We started to do this every time he came over, and
then...," Alec hesitated, looked at me to make sure, I think, that he could
continue. "...then we started to help each other out." Alec's cheeks turned
bright red and I started to see tears in the corner of his eyes.

I
put my arm around him again and pulled him to me. His tears grew more
abundant, and I heard a few sobs. I needed to be careful of what I said and
how I said it.

"Doing
what you did--experimenting with friends--is perfectly normal for a 14-year-old.
You're horny all the time, you need release, you are experimenting, you don't
know where you are sexually. That all is normal, at least it was with me.
There is nothing wrong with you at all.

"You
may or may not be gay," I continued. "What you are doing doesn't make you gay,
and not doing it any more wouldn't make you straight if you are really gay.
What I think you should do is just accept what you are doing as normal and let
your body and sexuality develop itself naturally. You know your Dad and I will
support you however you turn out."

I
think my little speech helped, because Alec relaxed against me for a few
minutes, then turned his head and challenged: "You want me to beat you in a
game of H-O-R-S-E?" The ability of a child, even a teenager, to switch gears
in an instant never ceases to astonish me.

"You
can't beat me," I boasted. "Get your basketball and let's go."

He
beat me on a three-pointer hook shot, and then we played against each other in
a rough and tumble game. There's something about males needing to bump and
push each other in basketball, football, soccer and many other sports that
probably goes back to the cave dwellers of France or the bushmen of Africa.
Alec was smaller than I--he was only fourteen, after all--but he could push,
shove and bump like a bigger person. And, he would use his elbows, which I had
to call fouls on from time to time. Alec was quicker and a better shot. I was
stronger and could muscle my way to the basket. We were fairly even, but I won.
As it should be.

Our
earlier conversation was totally forgotten as we wore each other out. We
retired to the kitchen where I pulled out a couple of beers. So, arrest me for
contributing to the delinquency of a minor. I agreed with Robbie that
introducing young people to alcohol in a responsible way was far better than
keeping them dry until they turned 21 or went to college.

While
Robbie had placed What You Always Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to
Ask strategically on the top shelf of the bookcase near the stairs, so that
Alec would be sure to find it, Celly's approach wasn't quite so clever. So, I
found myself answering sex-education questions for Celly, as well. "Alec told
me you told him that he could ask you anything--absolutely anything about sex,"
she said. She wanted the same offer.

"I
think you should ask your mother, or go to the library," I protested.

"I'm
a smart middle schooler and I don't want a dumbed down textbook or explanation
for monkeys or bananas. I want the real facts. You told Alec the real facts,
and I want you to treat us both equally."

"Alec
told you what we talked about?"

"No,
he just said you offered to answer anything he wanted to ask. Anything."

I
was relieved and embarrassed at the same time at the "honor." I eventually
told Anne--and Robbie--that I had been appointed sex-education advisor for their
children, and I had told them they could ask me anything at all they wanted
to. "Oh," Anne said, turning bright red before she lost her tongue. Robbie's
response was equally intelligent.

Over
the next few years, I became the confessor/advisor of Alec and Celly on sex and
every adolescent trouble they had--and that they told me their friends had. I
never told Robbie that Celly had fallen for a boy in Massachusetts that did
yard work for my mother and that after a few or her trips back to Boston--with
and without us along--they became, well, sexually active--and maybe more. His
name was Kyle, but Randy must have been his middle name.

I
didn't remember junior high and high school being so X-rated, but maybe I had
been sheltered too much.

Chocolate
Farts and the Chocolate Dilemma

Living
with the man you love is not always pure bliss. It has its drawbacks, as
living with anyone does. Every one of us has foibles that we all have to live
with. One of Robbie's foibles is his "chocolate farts." Obviously, I need to
explain.

Robbie
has a fascination with chocolate, particularly dark chocolate, and when he
encounters a dessert list with a particularly rich chocolate temptation on it
or when he goes to a gourmet bakery, the result is a large consumption of
chocolate--especially dark chocolate. In fact, he usually takes a few test
bites of my dessert if it is chocolate, then eats all his chocolate concoction.
He goes on chocolate binges: chocolate cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner
sometimes. Nothing else. Too many calories otherwise, he tells me.

Robbie's
eyes turn glassy in the presence of such chocolate. It's as if he is an alien
from space discovering the finest that the Earth has to offer. And it is pure passion
and worship from then on.

The
piper comes later--when the chocolate is digested and spews its results into and
through the lower intestines. On those nights I know enough to make love
early, to cuddle with Robbie after lovemaking on his side of the bed--way on his
side of the bed--and then to sneak to my side in the middle of the night after
he has fallen asleep. Even then, I can't get far enough away to keep the odor from
drifting from his edge of the bed to mine. What I really need is a 2 by 12 to
lay down the middle of the bed between us. Maybe even a taller bundle board
would help. Maybe the reason for a bundle board wasn't chastity, but
protection against farts and too much chocolate. Maybe we needed an extra
bedroom with twin beds. Not!

The
smell of Robbie's farts on those occasions is incredibly strong--stronger than
the residue of a side of beans--and it has absolutely no connection to the type
of chocolate that entered his alimentary system. None at all.

But
I love him, and I suffer in silence.

However,
because he has asked me to write my side of the story, which is from my side of
the bed, the truth of our relationship must come out. Furthermore, he read
this story before I sent it off, and he is absolutely non-repentant, but he
didn't censor me. As if he could. "Chocolate is better than sex," he said
after he read this story. Well, I'd tested him by withholding sex, playing
hard-to-get, but that tactic didn't even last one night--so much for my resolve.

"Chocolate
is not better than sex," I said, tasting his cum.

"Okay,
chocolate is almost as good as sex." He kissed me, and we exchanged "white
chocolate" with each other.

* * * * *

The
Chocolate Dilemma occurs when the Chocolate Farts conflict with Robbie's rain
fetish. As I said earlier, Robbie keeps the window and, often, the deck door
open when it rains, because he likes to hear the sound of the raindrops and the
storms. And, when the rain lashes the window and deck, Robbie pulls me to
him--the harder the rain, the harder the snuggle--as if my body next to his can
comfort him against the elements. But what happens, of course, is I get
comforted as well.

So
I'm torn. When Robbie goes on one of his chocolate jags at the same time a
storm is coming, I can either suffer, or I can exalt with his arms around me.
A terrible dilemma. A life-style decision. I decided I was always willing to
suffer the chocolate consequences, because of those warm arms around me,
pulling me to the joy of Robbie's body. I loved the feeling of the muscles of
his arms, the hair on his chest, the softness of my pubic regions against his
buttocks, and vice versa--all reviving the body memory of our love-making. And
when the storm really rasps across the window, I feel the bliss of his moist
and soft lips against my shoulder. However, into each life some farts must
fall.

Live with it.

* * * * *

Events
with Molini moved forward, and eventually the September 18 date of the sale drew
near. It was going to be a major event in Robbie's and my lives. I wanted to
make the occasion really special, so I arranged a private room at Le ForÍt, the
fancy 40th story restaurant in one of the big bank buildings. I
wanted to decide everything, so I chose a menu that we both would die for, in
our separate ways, and I chose some wines that I knew he would truly enjoy.

Robbie
knew there was something odd happening when I was home when he got there on the
17th. Then, when I poured him a glass of our favorite (ultra expensive) champagne
as a preliminary, he got further distressed. I was enjoying the secrecy of the
whole thing, and I told him I was taking him out to dinner. He actually was
getting a little pissed that he didn't have a clue as to what was going on, but
I couldn't tell him until the information became public, and I probably
wouldn't even have done so in confidence after savoring how nervous he was getting
about our pocket book. When he considered the cost of the champagne and the
restaurant, he made comments implying I was spending our money recklessly. I
let him keep on thinking that.

When I'd reserved the room, I'd told the maitre d' that Robbie and I were
lovers and we wanted a waiter who would take no affront from our relationship.
We weren't going to be caught in flagrante, of course, but I wanted to be sure
that if we were caught in a passionate kiss, there wouldn't be an unpleasant
scene. I wasn't quite so graphic with the maitre d', but I conveyed my wishes,
and he said he had just the right person to serve us.

The
meal was delicious, as was the tormenting of Robbie. I ordered everything,
including a double order of chocolate dessert for him but I asked the chef to
make it look like it was just a large single order. I know, Chocolate Farts,
but this time it was worth the future outfall, so to speak. The split of
champagne at dinner tied our afternoon to our evening, like a well designed
play, and then we had a really expensive pinot noir that I knew Robbie would
like.

Robbie
kept looking between the wine label, the expensive dinner, the private room and
me and couldn't decide if I was crazy--or probably crazier than he already
thought I was. I knew he was thinking about our funds, but he also trusted me
enough to know that somehow we probably would be able to afford it.

Of
course, he didn't know what was coming next. I handed him one of the two
presents that I had bought for him: the Mariner season tickets. It took him a
while to agree to open the envelope that contained them, because he was trying
to outwit Sawyer, the master of con, but his curiosity got to him and he opened
the envelope, and then his eyes bugged out.

I
then gave him my second present--a trip in the fall to the south of France. He
made another feeble attempt at outwitting me, but I won that one, too. The
points were adding up, whether I officially accounted for them or not.

We
were finished shortly before 9 pm, the time that my pumpkin was going to turn
into a carriage, so I whiled away the minutes with a few kisses and hugs. I
was glad I had been prescient enough to ask for a discreet waiter, because I
saw him a few times peeking through the door before I waved him off.

Robbie
was trying to guess how I could afford all this luxury, let alone the dinner.
At 9--midnight Eastern time, September 18--I told him. I'd always thought Robbie
the secure one in our relationship. I was the one who could be wild and
uncaring about what I did and what people thought and how much I could
embarrass him. He was always the one who made sure the bills would be paid,
that what I did didn't break the law--at least not too seriously--and called me
up short when the embarrassment quotient got too high. I knew he was
ultimately my protector.

I
was, therefore, not prepared for Robbie's reaction, when I told him about the
buyout of Molini and the amount of stock that I owned. I thought he would be
overjoyed, but he turned white and frightened. I had no clue why until he
started to say something about losing me. Whoa! It was as if he had no idea
how tied I was to him. It was as if independent wealth meant that I would up
and walk out the door, as if I was going to say, "Thank you very much, Robbie,
for supporting me for this past year, but now I don't need you any more."

Nothing
could be further from the truth. Sometimes Robbie has no clue, and this was
one of those times. I should have been happy that our roles were reversed from
time to time--when I was the one who was solid and he was the one who was
lost--but his reaction was so strong this time that I feared for our
relationship.

I
had to respond. In a way, it was probably going to be good for our
relationship. I had so much to thank him for, including my life; I had so many
reasons to need him, and I loved him so much. But these thoughts had trickled
out over the months. I had never articulated these thoughts at one time--and
this was the time. I laid it out before him: my thoughts on our
relationship from my side--stress on the word our. It was a tense few minutes.

I
didn't think our relationship was really at stake, but I didn't want the nature
of it to be changed. I loved Robbie as he was, and I liked myself as I was,
which was such a change from the storm that raged through my life after
Vietnam. The evening ended with Robbie accepting our good fortune, stress again
on the our.

Actually,
it ended somewhat more intimately--not sexually that evening, but entangled
comfortably in each other's arms. In the morning, we made up for our
abstinence, tasting of each other multiple times, happy as lovebirds in heat.

Commitment

And
then he will be mine, he will lie

Revealed
to me;

Patent
and open beneath my eye

He
will sleep of me;

He
will lie negligent, resign

His
truth to me, and I

Shall
watch the dawn light up for me

This
fate of mine.

And
as I watch the wan light shine

On
his sleep that is filled of me,

On
his brow where the curved wisps clot and twine

Carelessly,

On
his lips where the light breaths come and go

Unconsciously,

On
his limbs in sleep at last laid low

Helplessly,

I
shall weep, oh, I shall weep, I know

For
joy, or for misery.

-- D.H. Lawrence -- Wedding Morn

"Hello,
Anne," I said after being put through to her office.

"Hi,
Jake. How are things?"

"Sweet,"
I said.

"I'm
sure." Her comment turned me red in the face.

"Let's
not go too far there."

"What
can I do for you, Jake?"

"I
need to hire your services. Can we have lunch?"

"Sure."

"Today?"

"You
don't beat around the bush, do you? Let me check my schedule." I heard
riffling at her end of the phone. "Okay. I can reschedule what I have."

"Are
you sure?"

"Of
course, I would do anything for my favorite man."

"And
Robbie?"

"He
used to be my favorite man, but you came along, so he got nosed out." She
paused. "Where and what time?"

"How
about the Metropolitan Grill? Noon."

"You
won't be able to get reservations now."

"Mmmm."

"You
bastard. You knew I was going to cancel everything to have lunch with you,
didn't you?"

"Mmmm."

"Bye."

"Bye,
love."

I
was waiting in the white-linen, polished environment of the Metropolitan Grill
at 11:45. Precisely at noon, Anne walked in, and I waved like a maniac to gain
her attention. My antics gathered stuffy looks from the men at the neighboring
tables, but I smiled sweetly at them, which made them only stuffier.

I
stood as Anne came up to the table and pecked me on the cheek. She was dressed
sharply in a dark skirt and jacket, a white blouse and a dash of crimson at the
neck. She really looked beautiful, and I made sure the neighboring tables
noticed.

We
chatted quietly while the waiter took our order for her bottled water and my
beer. While the waiter was away, we talked about Alec and Celly. I saw Alec frequently,
but I saw Celly much less often, so I wanted to keep up with Celly's doings.
After our drinks arrived, she ordered grilled salmon, and I ordered crab
cakes. We ordered salads, which appeared shortly thereafter. We ate the
salads slowly as we began to talk.

"So,
what's on your mind?" Anne asked, professionally.

"You
probably know that we sold our company, but you probably don't know that my
stock was worth almost $20 million."

"Let
me write a note to double my billing rate. And..."

"I
want to make sure Robbie gets half of it, no matter what happens to us, and all
of it if I should die. He was responsible for me getting back on my feet, he
advised me to take my salary in stock instead of cash, which meant that I
couldn't help him out much financially, and he deserves half of it. I want you
to do the paperwork to ensure that he gets it."

Anne
sat for a few moments, deep in thought. "You know, Jake, that I love you
both. As an attorney, I really shouldn't represent you. I should get somebody
else in my firm to do so."

"That's
not acceptable. I only want you. I trust you, and you know our situation."

She
sat and thought some more, taking a sip of water a couple of times. "Okay. I
will do it on one condition: that I can grill you unmercifully right now about
what you intend to do, and I can back out if I'm not satisfied with the
answers. Agreed?"

"Yes,
absolutely."

"I
want you to assume that some time in the near future, you and Robbie have a rocky
year. Assume everything goes wrong with Robbie--maybe you arrive home early one
day and catch him in bed with a woman and that he decides he no longer is really
gay. Let's say you were becoming unhappy with Robbie before this incident. I
presume that would be enough to end your relationship. Am I right?"

"It'll
never happen, but if it did, yes, that might cause me to walk out the door."

"If
things were bad enough that you decided to walk, would you still want Robbie to
have half or your fortune?"

I
took some time to think about what she asked. I knew it was a hypothetical,
but things like that did happen. I knew I didn't want to change my decision to
make sure that Robbie had half, but I needed to explain why clearly and
persuasively to Anne. "The answer is yes."

"Explain."

"First,
I want to treat Robbie as if we were married, because in a different
here-and-now we would have been married, for better or worse.

"Second,
if we had been able to marry, we probably would have married when I was just a
grunt working at a software company for what amounts to a minimum wage--for lots
of hours, of course. Robbie would have been entitled to half my wealth as my
spouse. Washington is a common-property state, right?" Anne nodded.

"Third,
and most importantly, I don't want to have the decision on whether to give
Robbie half my money depend on the daily and weekly ups and downs of our
relationship. And, there will be ups and downs: I am realistic about that.
The money too easily might become a weapon to hold over him, giving me an
unfair advantage in our relationship. If we are not equal in our relationship,
there is no relationship." I took a few moments to think of anything more, but
couldn't think of anything important.

"That's
my explanation, counselor," I finished.

Anne
looked at me thoughtfully. "Good answer." She took a last drink of her
mineral water and signaled to the waiter that she wanted some coffee. "I'll do
it."

The
waiter came by with fresh decaf and regular coffee. Anne took decaf, and I
took regular. He asked if we wanted dessert.

"Do
you have any fresh fruit?" I asked.

"We
have some nice raspberries."

I
tilted my head toward Anne, inquiring whether she was interested, and she
indicated that she was. "Two orders of raspberries, please." Shortly
thereafter, two large bowls arrived with a garnish of mint leaves. The waiter
set a bowl of clotted cream on the table for the indulging. I indulged. Anne
didn't.

We
talked about this and that and Alec and Celly again as we ate our desserts and
finished our coffee. Anne grabbed the check before I could get my hands on
it. Business development, she explained. She kissed me on the cheek as we
parted. "Love you both," she said. "I'll get that work done shortly."

"No
hurry," I said.

Anne
called me a few days later to say that she had written up what we had agreed
upon and asked me if I wanted her to bring it by the condominium. I said no
and that I would drop by her office some time.

Anne
called me a few days later and asked if I would mind if she put some other jobs
ahead of meeting with me. She said she'd make it up to me. I told her I
didn't have any problem.

In
the meantime, I got an invitation in mid-September to go camping with Alec,
Celly and the love of my life--an invitation I couldn't refuse, of course. Alec
and Celly told us that they would take care of everything--and they underlined everything
in the way they talked. Of course, only Robbie could take care of some things,
though I suppose technically they could have taken care of Robbie's and my
needs as well. I had to stop myself from thinking such thoughts.

Well,
everything arrived at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and it seemed as if we were
going on a three-week safari. I chided Celly about the amount of luggage as I
gobbled down one of the croissants that she and Alec brought for our
breakfast. She just grinned at me and pecked me on the cheek.

We
headed down I-5 to U.S. 12, headed east and then turned off onto some Forest
Service roads. There wasn't must traffic, which was good, because the road was
single-lane with turnouts--though paved. We encountered a few RVs lumbering
north, but they didn't stop us for long. In the trees we could still see the
several inches of ash residue from the eruption of Mt. Saint Helens.

We
arrived at our camp spot, set some stuff out to mark it. I suggested we pee on
a few trees at the corners of the campsite, but that didn't get much support
from anybody. It didn't even get much of a laugh. Putting $5 in the Forest
Service campground lockbox didn't get a laugh either, but the campsite became
ours for the night.

We
put lunches and canteens in small day packs and drove to a trailhead high on
the flanks of the mountain. We went quickly through the sparse timberline
trees and soon were in open country with a spectacular view of Mount Adams and
the glaciers and waterfalls tumbling down from it. There weren't many
wildflowers this late in the season--a few around the streams--but the sumac had
turned scarlet with fall.

We
hiked leisurely through the meadows, found a nice spot overlooking a deep
glacier-carved valley with several large waterfalls a thousand feet below us
and about a mile away. There was a herd of two dozen mountain sheep about
halfway between us and the waterfalls, and we admired them in our binoculars as
they grazed on the hillside grass.

A
couple of the canteens, I found out, had been filled with chardonnay, so we all
got a bit tipsy before we finished our lunch--we, including Alec and Celly. Okay,
it was illegal, but we were 50 miles from the nearest cop, and we weren't going
to encounter any dangerous hiking on the way back.

We
got back in late afternoon, and Robbie and I were immediately shooed out of the
camp for the next hour, Alec handing us a nice bottle of wine, uncorked, as we
left. Our offer to help set up camp and fix dinner was spurned, so we decided
to hike around the lake, and, as the British say, to do a little snogging when
we stopped to "rest."

Not
having my morning release, I was getting a bit horny, but Robbie kept putting
me off. "Later," he said.

"Now?"
I countered.

"You
realize we wouldn't get back for quite a while."

"A
quickie?"

"Hold
your hormones!" he said. "I'll make it up to you later."

"The
word is horses."

"With
you, it's hormones. Any horse allusion is to size--my size." He gave me a
shove off the trail and started running down the lakeside trail. "Point for
me," he yelled over his shoulder. I gave chase, tackled him on a grassy bank
of the lake. We wrestled and I managed to squeeze his crotch enough times
until he showed his real size.

"It's
wild horses to you, lover." Robbie looked me in the eyes seductively,
closed them and moved his lips toward mine. I closed my eyes and moved my head
toward his. When my eyes were closed, he shoved me off of him, scrambled to
his feet, and took off running down the trail again, laughing, I think, like
the sex-crazed maniac he wanted to be.

"Bastard,"
I yelled.

He
had a long head start, so it wasn't till I saw him sitting at a picnic table at
an empty campsite that I caught up with him. He tried not to show that he was
panting, but I could see his struggle to make it seem that he was not out of
breath. Robbie was such a fake at times, but I decided to make peace and sat
down beside him and leaned in to kiss him again. This time he did respond in
kind after he closed his eyes. We were like two teen-aged boys in the throes
of love. I liked us that way.

We
strolled along and admired the reflection of Mount Adams in the lake as the
slanting sun warmed the colors of the trees nearby and the snow and rock on the
mountain.

We
arrived back at the camp, and as Robbie's story relates, my wildest dreams came
true. After a spectacular dinner, Robbie and I were "married" by his children
in a ceremony that brought tears to all of our eyes. I saw the last shadow of
doubt leave Robbie, as he said his vow and as we exchanged rings.

I
couldn't believe that Alec had found the same Navajo craftswoman that had made
the bracelet that I had given Tran--and then Alec. But he had, and I later
learned that Anne had flown down with him to Arizona to make the
arrangements--for our rings and for a necklace for Celly, which she donned after
we had exchange rings. What was nice was that the same theme was carried from
the bracelet to our rings, as if Robbie and I were not only marrying each
other, but also we were marrying his children.

Robbie
did make love to me that night and I made love back--and it wasn't a quickie.
Well, maybe the first one was a quickie, but the rest of them were longer
expressions of our love for each other. We weren't noisy, but we weren't
quiet, either; Alec had thoughtfully pitched his and Celly's tent some distance
from ours.

* * * * *

When
we got home, I looked at all the paperwork that this weekend developed. Did
all these papers amount to marriage? No. Was it a civil union with all the
characteristics of marriage? No? But Anne's legal work made it as close as it
could be, including, I noticed, what I had asked her to do for me. She did
almost everything that could be done, except those restrictions that the
government still held over us--like the ability to pass on what we owned to our
spouse and to file joint tax returns.